


Mirrors

by Flurry_X



Series: Nurmengard Castle Tales [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Credence Barebone/Percival Graves|Gellert Grindelwald, Panic Attacks, Post-Movie 2: Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald, Power Imbalance, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 11:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16809532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flurry_X/pseuds/Flurry_X
Summary: "What would they say if they saw his hands glide down and down, past his jaw, following his tendons, down into the dip of his collarbones, over his chest, resting lightly on his breastplate, rising and falling with the fast ragged rhythm of his breaths.The weight felt so good, so comforting, so foreign on his skin, it felt like everything he never knew he needed, his heart beating so fast, like it was trying to jump out of his chest, straight into his palms."---------Standalone mini-ficWhere Credence tries to shave and ends up learning something new.Credence POV





	Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> So I noticed Credence had a little stubble in the second movie and then this happened. I guess it's kind of a character study for me, I truly enjoy picturing what certain situations would look like for these two people.
> 
> Standalone mini-fic  
> Where Credence tries to shave and ends up learning something new.  
> Credence POV

Credence stared at his face, reflected in the clear glass of the window, scratching at his chin, feeling the short length of his beard between two fingers.  
“You really need to shave that, it makes you look so... unkempt.” he heard suddenly behind his back. The voice made him jolt, harsh and foreign, and he recoiled a little, before remembering things were different now, he didn’t have to hide in fear of anyone anymore.  
He scowled at Rosier, unable to hide his annoyance at the way she thought it her job to order everyone around. “I wasn’t asking for advice” he mumbled, already walking away.  
He didn’t care about her reply, didn’t care about what she thought of him, what anyone else at the castle thought of him. He wasn’t there for them or because of them.

He hurried up inside, seeking warmth and shelter, and quiet. He pushed the heavy wooden doors shut behind him and walked towards the library, the place in the castle he liked the best.  
His steps echoed loudly on the marble floors of the empty corridors, noticeable even as he tried to move quietly, go unseen.  
His hands kept reaching for his stubble, it felt itchy and rough now, and he wondered if they all noticed, if they all thought he looked like a dirty freak because of it. He wondered if _he_ had noticed, if _he_ thought any less of him.  
The thought of it made him blush with shame and anger. Whenever he felt like he belonged there, at Grindelwald’s side, some small detail would jump out and remind him how different he was, a simple poor boy who knew nothing of the world. Always less, always lacking.  
He walked past the kitchen, briefly noticing Queenie peering at him from behind a steaming cup of tea. He stopped for a second, almost wanting to reach out to her, but he thought better of it, and kept walking instead. He didn’t want her to unveil his insecurities, peer into his thoughts, afraid of what she would think of him if she knew what he really desired.

He stared down at his old and scuffed shoes as he walked away, wondering if they too were an object of belittlement and judgement. He scoffed, angry at himself for caring about such insignificant details, as he reached the library, silent and empty as usual, fire twinkling inside the big fireplace.  
The room was always a little dark and a little damp, and he liked it that way, it made him feel safe and isolated.  
He grabbed one of the books waiting for him on the small side table and folded his body into the dusty green armchair closest to the fire. There was just so much for him to learn, so much those books could teach him about his own kind, wizards, he simply couldn’t get enough of it.  
Up until that moment books had only been a source of strict rules and tales of sin and damnation, dispensing judgment, never advice.  
Now he had all this knowledge at the tip of his fingers, he was free, finally, to explore, to question, to learn, Grindelwald acting as his master and his guide.  
He would give him as many books as he desired, answer as many questions he could think of, never bothered by his curiosity, always making some time in his day just for Credence, treating him like he mattered, and Credence almost believed him now when he would say it had all been for him.

He opened the book “Transfiguration through the years” and he watched as a neat note fell out of it and onto his lap. “ _Aurelius_ ,” it said “ _The fourth chapter should answer your questions from last night. I will be waiting for you in my quarters to practice in the morning_ ” it ended simply, no well wishes, no signature, as there was no doubt Grindelwald had sent it.  
The man was the only one calling him with his new name, Aurelius; it sounded so important, still foreign on his own tongue, he wasn’t sure he liked it. He knew, deep down, he liked it best when he would call him his boy, a warmth spreading through his chest and to his cheeks at the mere thought, secret and forbidden.

He shook the feeling off, as the note made it clear how the expectation was for him to be prepared for his lesson the next day, and he immersed himself into the damp pages, eager to learn, eager to please his teacher.  
The warmth of the flames twinkling gentle in front of him, lulling his body into relaxation, his muscles melting slowly as his eyes tried harder and harder to focus on the words.  
It was a failing battle against sleep and warmth, and he gave in as soon as the chapter was over, words twisting in his brain, his mouth trying to recall a complex spell.  
He fell asleep like that, knees pulled to his chest, the little book now resting on his lap, his body curled up awkwardly on the old chair.

He woke up a while later, limbs aching and mouth dry, stretching out, wondering how long he had been asleep for, scolding himself for being so careless.  
He reached out to put the little book back on the table next to him, and he noticed something gleaming on it. He peered at it more closely, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, and he realized there was a new note. “ _My friend_ ”, it started, weirdly, he didn’t have any friends _“I thought you might want to try your hand at this. And remember, you’ll look good no matter what, hon. Love, Q”_. Still confused, he looked at the object next to the note.  
It was a razor, he realized. A sharp and elegant tool, its handle embellished and its blade shiny. It felt cold and heavy into his palm, and he realized Queenie had in fact been listening to his thoughts earlier.  
He blushed in shame, his heart rate quickening at the thought that someone had peered into him, that someone now knew how misplaced, how small he constantly felt.  
He felt the obscurus swirling inside him, feeding off his anger, and he made an effort to slow his breaths down, close his eyes, control the rising tide of emotion.  
“You can control it, my boy. You can be your obscurus’ master, just focus, be stronger that it is.”, Grindelwald’s words echoed in his mind, guiding him, calming him.  
He didn’t want to hurt Queenie he realized, he was ashamed of his own shortcomings, of his own recklessness in letting his private thoughts out in an unprotected space. He knew she meant well, he could see the kindness in her eyes, sad and strong and friendly.  
He took a deep breath, feeling his body relax once more, as the studied the newly acquired object in his hand.  
He had no reason not to accept this gift, he thought. This might be his chance to put some effort into his appearance, show everybody in the castle that he too could be polished, he too could belong. To show him he was a good student, he was worthy to stand at his side.

He put the razor in his pocket and hurried out of the library, up the stairs, skipping steps, two by two, until he reached his room. It was dark outside, he noticed, the only light in his room coming from a few candles floating gently in the air, some dinner leftovers left by his bed by an elf, a sign that he had missed dinner.  
He shrugged it off, knowing nobody would have missed his presence, and he sat down in front of the small mirror on his desk.  
Mirrors were still foreign and novel to him, even after a few weeks at the castle. Ma used to say they inspired vanity, they tricked men and women into sin, so she didn’t allow any inside the house. Being able to peer at himself, watching undisturbed how his muscles moved, how his expressions changed, was still a strange and delightful indulgence for him.

He took the razor out of his pocket, opened it to reveal its sharp blade, held it up in front of his face, and the realization came to him that he had never done this before, he had never seen anyone do this before. He didn't know how to use it.  
It seemed intuitive, he reasoned, like he could simply press the blade against his skin and rid himself of his ragged appearance.  
He felt a small twitch of anxiety at the thought that he had nobody to ask for advice about this, that even when surrounded by people, he still was alone.

He took a deep breath, reminding himself not to be concerned about such small matters, and he resolutely pressed the razor to his left cheek, and down, towards his jaw in a swift motion.  
He realized immediately he had made a mistake, his skin burning, little spots of red blooming on his pale cheek, tears prickling between his eyes. He tightened his jaw, telling himself to stop acting like a child, to control his shaky hand and just get through with it, like every other man did. How could he long to be one of them, stand next to _him_ , if he wasn’t even able to complete the most basic task of manlihood?  
He bit his lip as he raised his hand to his face again and again and again, going faster, than slower, his fingers getting cramped as he tried to will his own skin to just stop bleeding.  
He had to put the razor down when his eyes became too watery and unfocused in the dim light of the candles. His face prickling painfully with a myriad of tiny inexperienced cuts, his breaths becoming ragged as he felt a familiar sense of mounting unease and agitation.  
He closed his eyes, now fighting back tears of anger, as he felt a drop of blood slowly trickling down from his upper lip into his mouth. Coppery and thick and a clear symbol of his ineptitude with even the smallest of challenges.  
Voices in his head getting louder, sounding like Ma, telling him how useless, worthless, stupid of a child he was.  
And he couldn’t will the shame and the rage away anymore, frustration mounting inside him, sleek and vicious, for the people in the castle, judging him, for the family that had discarded him when he was just a baby, but most of all, for himself.  
For being so insignificant, so easy to forget, to throw away, crumpled and used and empty.

He slammed his tight fists on the desk, making the mirror rattle and fall on its face, breaking in tiny pieces. The sound of it shattering echoing loudly between the stone walls, as he pictured everyone hearing it, knowing what he was doing, laughing at his stupidity.  
He raised his hands to his face, suppressing a scream, his heart beating furiously against his ribcage, inside his throat. He tried to recall Grindelwald’s voice, telling him to regain control, quieten his demons, but it was useless, his self hatred raising sharp and uncontested inside his chest, as he asked himself why couldn’t he just be normal, why couldn’t he just function like everybody else.  
He heard sobs bubbling up from his throat, and he felt the very edges of himself blurring, turning into black wisps of smoke, as he fought not to lose his human form. The obscurus was growing stronger inside of him, feasting on his shame, his anger towards himself.  
He pushed the chair back, falling to the floor, his body twitching and twisting beyond his control, as he battled with his darkness, knowing he couldn’t let it out, not like this, not now, not with so little control and so many powerful people around.

He didn’t know how long it lasted, he would always lose all sense of time and space whenever the obscurus took over like that, using his every reserve of energy to keep it contained. He could only try to fight back, forcing his body to open up again, to swallow the darkness within himself, where it would be harmless, invisible. A back and forth, relentless, pushing him to his limits, wishing he could just let it all out again, abandon himself to the anger, disregarding the consequences. He knew he couldn’t do that now, not to him, not when the stakes were so high and he was finally important to someone.  
He managed to slow his breaths down eventually, bit by bit, to focus on the cold floor beneath him, to piece his body back together, muscle by muscle.

Once it was all over, when he could feel his edges becoming solid, real again, he felt completely spent, empty, a tired and crumpled shell. He couldn’t do anything more than rest his head back onto the stone pavement, letting his eyes close once more as he allowed his body to unfurl into a blank sleep.

He woke up hours later, the light hitting his face, the noises of the forest outside his window gently knocking at his ears.  
His whole body hurt after having spent the night curled up on the bare floor without a cover or a pillow, luxuries he was slowly getting used to.  
He stirred as he stretched his limbs out from that uncomfortable position, his head felt fuzzy and weirdly empty, and it took him a minute to remember what he was supposed to be doing.  
“His quarters. I can’t be late.” he thought with a jolt of adrenaline and fear. What would Grindelwald do to him if he was late? What would his punishment be? He asked himself, his mind spiralling down again.  
He stood up as fast as he could, his body still not responding as quickly as usual, still shaken from the night before.  
He stepped on the mirror’s fragments as he stood up, the mess he had made now on display in the crisp morning light. The chair upside down on the floor, shards of glass covering his desk, the razor, stained with small flecks of his blood.  
He felt shame rising again from his empty stomach, like a sickness, as he touched his face, still raw and covered in small cuts. He wondered if he could recall any simple spell to fix his appearance just a little, but immediately thought better of it; the way the sun seeped into his room told him he was already late for his lesson, and he couldn’t bare the idea of making that man wait for him any longer than necessary.  
So he simply splashed water on his face, hoping he didn’t look as distraught as he felt, hoping nobody would notice, and grabbed his wand.

He hurried out of his room, pulling the shirt’s collar up as far as it would go, trying to cover the blemishes on his skin, trying to hide himself, as he walked briskly to Grindelwald’s quarters, just on the opposite side of the Castle.  
He reached the east wing fast, his breath catching in his lungs a little as he knocked on the thick wooden frame.

“Come in, my boy” said a voice on the other side of the door, and the dusty looking lock on the door slid open, letting him in.  
He took a deep breath as he entered, his hands clenched into fists, pulled deep inside his pockets, his shoulders rising to protect his face in a familiar motion, as he steeled himself for the punishing blows he was sure were to come.  
He stepped into the light, unable to look him in the eye, focusing on the clear veins of the marble floors instead, hoping he looked normal enough, that he wouldn’t study his face too hard.  
He heard soft steps as Grindelwald moved closer to him, his leather boots hitting the floor lightly.  
He shrunk into himself a little more, an instinct to protect himself, as he could feel the man’s presence right in front of him, towering over him.  
“Don’t shy away, my boy. Let me see.” he said, and his voice was raspy and soft, but still commanding, as he reached out with two fingers to touch Credence’s chin.  
He whimpered as his hands made contact with his raw skin, a touch that was delicate and painful at the same time.  
“Look at me”, not a request, but a command. And he had to obey.  
He raised his eyes to meet the man’s, mustering courage he didn’t feel, as he let him scrutinize deep inside him, all knowing and all powerful.  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry” he heard himself blurting out suddenly “I just- I just wanted to.. I’m sorry” he said, as tears were welling up in his eyes again, unwanted, pitiful.  
“Shhh, boy, you did nothing wrong. You just wanted to fit in, didn’t you?” Grindelwald said, reassuring, paternal “Come here, follow me” he said, a hand kindly leading him from the center of his back.

They walked through a short set of hallways he hadn’t seen before, leading to Grindelwald's own private quarters, an area which had been forbidden before now. The light filtering from the big windows was soft, wintery, it made the marble shine brightly, and it almost seemed like it was all happening in a dream state, not reality  
Credence hesitated once they got to the entrance of the wizard's bedroom door, letting him walk past, unsure if he should proceed, if it wasn’t all a trick.  
He glanced curiously at the room around him, wondering if would ever have such a chance to see this powerful man so close, personal. His gaze instinctively turned to the big bed at the center of the room, with its dark and shiny covers and luscious pillows, and he couldn’t help but picture Grindelwald falling asleep in them, his body enveloped by the sheets. He wondered what he looked like when he slept, defenseless and warm, just a man, not a powerful wizard. He scolded himself for these thoughts, the phantom of Ma's punishing welts burning fiercely on his hands.  
Grindelwald was moving efficiently in front of him, his sleeves, now rolled up to his elbows and his usual thick jacket discarded at the foot of the bed. The sight of his naked forearms, pale and strong and covered with short blonde hair, was a strange delight, it felt intimate and personal. It made him feel more real, like they were made of the same substance after all, equals as men. He wondered what it would feel like to run his fingers on them, to hold onto them, tightly.

“There is no danger here boy, just come, sit down” the man said suddenly, interrupting the flow of his thoughts, pointing at a large luscious chair in front of a dark vanity set.  
He did as he was told and he sank into the comfortable leather of the chair, unable to help himself from glancing at his own reflection in the desk mirror. His face look scorched and red, clusters of hair left in spots where he couldn’t reach or see properly, his shirt collar stained with dried blood. He looked even worse than he thought, and he felt a familiar prickling at the back of his neck, in his ears, as he blushed in shame, his whole face feeling hot and tight.  
His heart started racing again, as Grindelwald put a hand on his shoulder, standing behind him, catching his gaze in the mirror. “Would you like me to show you the right way?” he asked, and Credence could only nod in agreement, swallowing his embarrassment down.

“Let me fix this first” Grindelwald whispered lightly, raising his hands to cup his burned face. He flinched a little at the unexpected motion, something inside him slowly unraveling under the man’s warm hands.  
“Shh..” he said again, and a tingling warmth spread through his skin, traveling on its surface, bubbly and soothing, mending his small wounds, seeping into him, thick and sweet.  
He remembered the feeling from so long ago, when Grindelwald was still Mr. Graves, dark and dangerous and magnetic, when he would meet him in dark alleyways and mend his secret wounds.  
Nothing had changed, he realized, even if everything looked different. His breath still stuttered in his lungs, shivers of longing running down his spine, in his belly, as he wished for the man’s touch to never cease, and for it to disappear, its intensity unbearable.  
He closed his eyes, unable to resist the temptation to lean into the man’s palms, just a little, just enough to soak up every ounce of comfort he had to spare, a physical memory to recall during darker times.  
He felt his face subtly following the man’s hands even as they left him, straining against the air, wanting more but not daring to ask.  
The silence around him felt poignant suddenly, and he forced himself to open his eyes. He looked into the mirror, just to realise that the man was now standing next to him, closer, warmer. Their eyes met for a second and he felt his insides twist violently, a rising tide of shame and desire he had no control over. He could feel his heartbeat right into his ears, deafening, as he couldn’t help but lowering his gaze again, the natural instinct to protect himself from scrutiny.

“Aurelius..” he heard, soft and strained almost, as he felt Grindelwald’s hands reaching for his face again, his thumb now moving slowly and almost sweetly over his lips, erasing the razor’s blemishes, but also, maybe he thought, caressing.  
His lips parted without him realizing, as he tried to draw a breath in, but there was no air, and everything he could smell was the wizard’s scent.  
Grindelwald’s fingers hesitated for a second, the healing spell now over, like he was making a choice. It was just a fraction of a second before they resumed their motion, slow and precise, down, over his lips, following the slope of his mouth, dipping inside just a little, now just touching, exploring. They were so close to his tongue that he could have just reached out, a short inch, to taste them, feel them solid between his lips. The thought of it so sinful, wretched, and delightful that he had no chances of stopping a small, soft breath from escaping his body, a moan, breathless and truthful.  
He recoiled in shame once the sound reached his own ears, foreign and loud, and unforgivable.  
“I- ” he started saying, breathless, not knowing how to justify his desire, before realizing that he wouldn’t have to.  
“Quiet, my boy.” Grindelwald said, his voice now lower and darker than he remembered, something vibrant shining in the depths of his eyes, as he retracted his hands from his face, ever so slowly. Credence obeyed, his whole body still pulsating from the brief interaction.  
He didn't dare to raise his eyes again as he heard the man moving around the room, too taken with the burning feeling still on lips, like his fingers were still there, warm and slow and heavy.

Soon the wizard came back, carrying a bowl of steaming water with him. He didn’t explain what he was going to do but Credence didn’t need him to, he knew he wouldn’t be able to articulate any rational thought at this point.  
It was a simple process, he realized, first a towel, warm and moist on his face, Grindelwald pressing it gently over his cheeks, the warmth of it mixing with his embarrassed blush. Then a rich, thick foam, like a cloud, cold and smelling strongly of mint, being spread evenly across his face with a brush, one hand meticulously drawing circles on his jaw, the other cupping his neck gently; his whole body tingling now, and he was unsure which sensation he liked the best, it all felt so overwhelming.  
And then finally the razor, as sharp as the one he had used the night before but clearly older, showing signs of routine use.  
He held his breath when the blade touched his face, bracing himself for the cuts that were to come, but they never did. Grindelwald's hands moved sure and elegant all around him, as he pressed hard enough to leave his skin smooth but never so hard that he would hurt. It felt peaceful and luxurious, to be taken care of in such a way, be touched with such care and expertise. He basked in it, feeling tender and exposed as he rested his head backwards, exposing his neck to the knife.  
It was thrilling to feel it glide slow over his throat, to feel Grindelwald's hands touch the tendons in his neck, feel his fast heartbeat through the thin veil of his skin. The gesture felt bold and powerful and intimate all the same time, exposing himself, surrendering all control, letting him have everything he wanted.  
He wondered if he would notice how hard his heart was pumping, desire and fear spurring it on, as his hands reached out once again, cleaning his skin, then spreading a warm oily liquid all over it.  
It felt sinfully good to be massaged like that, to have this powerful man being so taken with such a small insignificant task, for such a small insignificant boy.

He thought about the people at the castle. What would they say if they knew the mighty Grindelwald had spent the last few minutes shaving him so carefully, if they could see him working the oil into his skin, so slow and luscious.  
What would they say if they saw his hands glide down and down, past his jaw, following his tendons, down into the dip of his collarbones, over his chest, resting lightly on his breastplate, rising and falling with the fast ragged rhythm of his breaths.  
The weight felt so good, so comforting, so foreign on his skin, it felt like everything he never knew he needed, his heart beating so fast, like it was trying to jump out of his chest, straight into his palms.

“You need new clothes, boy.” Grindelwald said eventually, like he was coming out of a trance, pointing at Credence's old and stained shirt. He didn't even ask for permission, he simply started undressing him, his fingers brushing against his cold skin as they moved slowly over the buttons, undoing them one by one, exposing his chest.  
Credence couldn't help but shiver, because of the cold air or because of the desire he didn't know, and maybe he didn't care.  
He had dreamt of this moment so many times, sinful demons coming alive in his sleep and telling the most riveting tales of pleasure and desire. He had dreamt of warm strong hands on his body, caring and commanding, undressing him, gripping him so tightly, tucking him in, so close, never to be let go. Dreams pulsating painfully between his legs, as he wanted to reach out and touch, so badly, to find a relief that would never come.  
It felt like his unspeakable sins lived right on his skin, just under the flimsy armor of clothes, like once his shirt was removed they would be exposed for everyone to see, so wrong and perverted. And he wanted to tell him to stop, to put his clothes back, to leave his desires hidden, to stop tempting his demons in such a careless manner.  
But the words wouldn’t come. Frozen and stuck inside his dry throat.  
Because now his body was being touched, so lightly and gently, and he couldn’t help but long to abandon himself to that feeling completely, drinking every touch up till the last drop.  
Wanting to fall, knowing Grindelwald’s arms would be there to catch him.  
He let his body be undressed, and it felt like he was shedding an old skin, like he was peeling Credence, his life, his sorrows, his shame from himself.  
It felt like he was going to be naked and nameless, just a boy, belonging to no one but _him_.

He observed the man as he knelt at his feet to untie his shoes, a position so foreign it was almost comical. Grindelwald, the powerful wizard, terrifying half the world, now bending over, at a nameless boy’s feet, taking his shoes off carefully, like the action had any actual significance.  
He looked at the line of his spine, at the way his shoulders stretched the rich material of his shirt, the way his brow furrowed in concentration. He couldn’t help but feeling a pull, prickling and warm, tingling in his belly, and down, between his legs, forbidden and inevitable.  
Wanting to reach out, feel the muscles of his neck twitch under his fingers, wanting to touch, not just be touched. He craved it all so badly that he could barely breathe under the crushing weight of his lust.

“Stand up.” Grindelwald ordered suddenly, startling him, as he offered him a hand.  
He held onto it tightly, the contact sending sparks of electricity through his arm and into his chest. He stood up on shaky legs, trying to find a balance, feeling like he was falling deeper and deeper, Grindelwald's arm his only anchor.  
His touch now felt purposeful, deliberate, as he lingered, unbuttoning his pants, brushing against the hard flesh between his legs, the burning hot center of his desire, where he was forbidden from touching, where he had never dared to reach.  
He felt his whole body tremble as the man’s hands ran the length of his legs, caressing his tights lightly as they pushed his pants down to the floor, and under his feet, discarded.  
He felt his own eyes weeping now, slow tears trickling down his face, as he felt so ashamed, so exposed, like there was no place for him to hide now, no way to justify his desire.  
He just felt like laying down, crumpling his skinny body at the man’s feet, begging to be taken and never let go.  
He stood there, exposed, his flimsy underwear the only thing covering his lust, his heart now beating so loudly he wasn’t able to hear anything else, louder than the breeze outside the castle, louder than the shame in his mind.

It was a relief, the sweetest and most heartbreaking relief, when Grindelwald stood to face him, and without saying anything, took him in his arms and held him tightly, one had cupping the nape of his neck, the other one gripping his naked shoulder.  
He felt his whole body shaking with surprise, overwhelmed by that bruising embrace, as his skin made contact with the man’s solid body. He rested his forehead on his shoulder, hiding his eyes and his tears, relief and lust cascading languidly over his body, running down his spine, filling his throat.  
His skin felt alight with live current wherever they touched, and they were touching everywhere, and every spot was a shot of guilty pleasure running straight into his groin.  
His arms rose up, uncertain, tentative, to hold onto Grindelwald’s shirt, to anchor himself there, make sure it was real and solid. The mere act of reciprocating the embrace felt daring and reckless, like he would be pushed away in disgust at any moment.  
But the moment never came.  
He stood there, crying, his whole body straining against the man, longing to be closer and closer, wanting to be swallowed up inside him, overwhelmed and grateful.  
“Shhh, my boy” Grindelwald said, his voice deep and dark and raspy, like sandpaper, as he felt his arm moving slowly over his shoulders, caressing his spine, quieting his soft sobs. His whole body tensed against him at the sound of those words, and he couldn’t help it, he just wanted it to be true, he just wanted to be his, owned and claimed and whole.  
He pushed against the man’s body, his fingers now crumbling the silk of his shirt, his hips pushing forward, untamable, against his leg, his eyes now blind as his face sank deeper into the curve of his neck, hidden.  
The contact between his groin and Grindelwald’s leg felt like nothing he had ever felt before, warm and soothing and raw, spreading all over his body from the inside out. He he did it again and again and again, desperate, seeking the high of their bodies rubbing against each other over and over. Sobs and moans rolling out of his mouth, indistinguishable.  
He didn’t know what he was doing, his hips just grinding erratically, unstoppable and inexperienced, but he couldn’t help himself. He felt drunk, he felt like he would die if he stopped moving.

The tension kept mounting and mounting, unescapable, as Grindelwald’s hand reached out past the slope of his spine, slipping under his underwear, grabbing him bruisingly tight, and pushing his hips forward, forcing him ever closer.  
He felt powerful then, his fears quieted for just a second, just long enough to believe that he was wanted, that his desire was reciprocated, that their embrace was meant to be and it would never end. He felt emboldened by that thought, the hole of loneliness in his chest filling with passion instead, as he rubbed even harder, now abandoning himself to the pleasure, shamelessly seeking more and more and more.  
It felt like he was going to burst, like the edges of his body were splitting open at the seams, unable to contain the rising tide of this mounting pleasure.  
“Shhh, my boy, you’re safe.” a whisper in his ear, sounding broken almost, filled with a craving he now recognized. And it snapped something inside of him, pushing him over the edge, his whole body being enveloped by a convulsing pleasure, exploding into lust. It was so powerful he felt like he might pass out, his mind now blank, his senses filled with nothing but the man in front of him, his smell, his touch, his voice. He fell, deeper and deeper into it, finding nothing but soft and sweet pleasure, ricocheting through his body.

It ended slowly, like retracting tide, slipping away from him beat by beat, as he leaned against Grindelwald’s strong body, now spent and mellow, and tender. He felt like he was made out of water, warm and shapeless, and he was grateful for the man’s arms still around him, now just holding, not bruising, letting him find his shape again.  
His thoughts were thick and cloudy, as his mind struggled to make sense of everything that was happening, as he realized he was in a foreign land, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do now, what rules he was supposed to obey.  
He felt relief when Grindelwald made the choice for him, his hands retracting slowly, like they were leaving his skin reluctantly, taking a step back, putting space between their bodies.  
It felt strange now, not to be pressed tightly together, not to be enveloped by the smell of him.  
He watched curious and dazed as the wizard flicked his wand down towards his stained underwear, cleaning it off, acting fast, efficiently, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, like Credence hadn’t just fallen into sin, like his world hadn’t just been turned upside down.

He observed as he turned his wand towards the closet, summoning a pile of clothes he hadn’t seen before. ”I have been meaning to give these to you” he said as they floated neatly into his outstretched hand, his voice still deep but now less shaky.  
Credence took them, holding them tightly against his chest, now aware once more of how exposed he was. He lowered his gaze to the floor instinctively, avoiding his eyes as they turned to him, not knowing what to say.  
“Look at me” Grindelwald said, his fingers reaching out to push from under Credence’s chin in a familiar motion “Never think of yourself as lesser, weak, or wrong.” he whispered confidently, forcing him to hold eye contact “You are the opposite of those things. Never forget that” he concluded, his face so close now that Credence could feel his breath on his lips.  
He nodded in obedience, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity the man was looking at him with, wanting to obey him, make him proud.  
“Yes, Sir” he whispered, his voice trembling, almost inaudible, as he felt his hand leave his face.  
He felt him turning away, walking away confidently without a parting gesture, leaving him alone in the big room, clothes clutched to his chest, a storm of racing thoughts in his mind.

The clothes felt luxurious in his hands, their textures rich like he had never owned before, and he almost felt unworthy of them. He pushed the feeling away, recalling what the wizard had just told him, and he put them on.  
He walked to the mirror when he was fully dressed, the bold colors of the silk now adorning his body, so stark and vibrant against his pale skin. He felt the fabrics under his fingers, smooth silks and deep velvets, enveloping his body, masking his secrets once more.

And he didn’t look like a freak anymore, he didn’t look like a nameless boy, he looked distinguished and taller and broader.  
He looked like he belonged amongst the most powerful of wizards.  
And, inside, he knew, he now belonged to _him_.

**Author's Note:**

> It all started with a lil stubble and then got out of hand, I know, I hope it actually made sense to someone other than me, it has been ages since I tried to write anything in this more "linear" style.  
> This actually took a long time to put together so if you liked it, *please* do leave a comment and let me know, you will 100% make my day and motivate me to add to the series!  
> If anyone has opinions they wanna discuss, or things they'd like to see me write about, let me know, I'll be super happy to talk =)  
> Thank you for reading this much.


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